


Dead Tongues

by StealthKaiju



Category: Dracula & Related Fandoms, Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: Extended Scene, Homoeroticism, M/M, only slightly steady on they've only just really met
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:55:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25222735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StealthKaiju/pseuds/StealthKaiju
Summary: Following his arrival to the Count's castle the night before, this is their first proper conversation together, about the Count's difficulties learning English.Quotes in italics taken directly from the novel.
Relationships: Dracula/Jonathan Harker
Comments: 2
Kudos: 59





	Dead Tongues

_“I am glad that you found your way in here, for I am sure there is much that will interest you. These companions,” and he laid his hand on some of the books, “have been good friends to me, and for some years past, ever since I had the idea of going to London, have given me many, many hours of pleasure. Through them I have come to know your great England, and to know her is to love her. I long to go through the crowded streets of your mighty London, to be in the midst of the whirl and rush of humanity, to share its life, its change, its death, and all that makes it what it is. But alas! As yet I only know your tongue through books. To you, my friend, I look that I know it to speak.”_

_“But, Count,” I said, “You know and speak English thoroughly!”_

_He bowed gravely._

_“I thank you, my friend, for your all too-flattering estimate, but yet I fear that I am but a little way on the road I would travel. True, I know the grammar and the words, but yet I know not how to speak them.”_

_“Indeed,” I said, “You speak excellently.”_

“But I speak with an affectation, that marks me as other!” he almost hissed, his fog-grey eyes flashing. Squat fingers twitched, long sharp nails almost cutting into the leather of the books. “I wish to walk through your society as innocuous as the crocodile in the river, the tiger in the jungle, the boa in the branches.”

I must admit, I was confused by this outburst. “Those are all predatory animals,” I began. “I am not sure I follow.”

A small smile crossed over those dark red lips. “Oh, they are, are they not? I merely refer to their skills of concealment.” He sighed. “I can look the part of an English gentleman, bred and born, but as soon as I speak, the façade will fail.”

I thought of the Count’s first words to me the previous evening. _Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own free will… Go safely, and leave something of the happiness you bring!_ It could not be denied, he had an unusual turn of phrase.

“Your speech may not be a native Englishman’s, but one could argue it to be most charming.”

The Count raised one of his bushy eyebrows, and I felt like a schoolboy admonished by his teacher. “Dear Mr Harker, I might be able to be considered ‘charming’ if I were handsome.” He clicked his tongue against sharp teeth. “We make too much allowance for beauty; forgive too much. Are blind to too much.” He looked at me again, with that odd, unwavering intensity. “I am an exacting master. In all things. And I intend to be in this as well.”

He looked away, and I could breathe again.

“ L – E – A – D,” he spelt out. “How would you pronounce that?”

I shook myself. “Well it depends, it can be-“

“Exactly!” he exclaimed, moving to stand closer to me. Again, there was that scent of… something. Not pleasant, like wet earth or rotten meat, but just as quick it had disappeared. His hand gestured, a rhetorician warming to his theme. “It can be ‘lead’ to rhyme with ‘plead’, or it can be ‘lead’ to rhyme with ‘fled’. Bah!” His lips drew back in a snarl. “English is a tyrant of a language – it relies on context and interpretation, a myriad of complexities, a thousand threads too small to see.”

I was out of my depth, so my natural Englishness came through. “I am sorry,” I said, trying to sound cheerful, but it came off meek, almost like a bleat. I cleared my throat.

The Count laughed pleasantly. “I do not hold you responsible my friend. I apologise, I was voicing my frustration.” He put a hand on my upper arm, the coldness of his skin seeping through the layers of cloth. We were so close, certainly closer than propriety, and I felt a wave of nervousness flood through me. “Sit,” he said, pushing me down to the chair next to me, and my body obeyed before my mind could.

“ _He is discreet and silent_ ,” he said softly, now leaning over me. He continued to quote the letter my employer had sent. “ _He shall be ready to attend on you when you will during his stay, and shall take your instructions in all matters._ ” His hand was still on my upper arm, but the other traced a nail under my chin, as light as a cobweb, lifting up my head. He smiled and again I saw those teeth.

I do not often imbibe, but I felt drunk then. The floor rolled under my feet like a boat at sea, and my vision was filled with nothing but those grey eyes.

The tip of the Count’s tongue traced his bottom lip. “What a particular way to describe someone,” he mused. “As if you were not already dependent? First on your wages from your employer, and also on my hospitality.” His head tilted to the side, but he did not blink. “It must be odd to be one of the serving class. Myself, I am master, here in my castle, here in my realm, and soon to be in England. Yet, I am also dependent on you, at least for now. You will give me instructions – you will correct my speech when I err, guide me in the social mores, and be my looking-glass.” His voice dropped to a whisper, and his eyes dropped down to my throat, where he must have seen my skin where my pulse jumped against it. “I am desperate for you, my dear, dear friend.”

He moved away suddenly, and I almost fell onto the floor. My limbs felt as if they were made of water. What had happened? There was silence, but I could feel my heart beating, loud as a soldier’s drum, and I felt sick.

_“Come,” he said at last, “tell me of London and of the house you have procured for me.”_


End file.
